At least, he doesn't admit the right." She hesitated. "It
doesn't seem loyal to talk about it."
"My dear girl," I said with an impulse of candour, "there isn't much
you can tell me about that problem. My own marriage went to pieces
on that rock."
I saw a look of surprise upon her face. "I haven't told you my story
yet," I said. "Some day I will--when you feel you know me well
enough for us to exchange confidences."
There was more than a hint of invitation in this. After a silence,
she said: "One's instinct is to hide one's troubles."
"Sylvia," I answered, "let me tell you about us. You must realise
that you've been a wonderful person to me; you belong to a world I
never had anything to do with, and never expected to get a glimpse
of. It's the wickedness of our class-civilization that human beings
can't be just human beings to each other--a king can hardly have a
friend. Even after I've overcome the impulse I have to be awed by
your luxury and your grandness; I'm conscious of the fact that
everybody else is awed by them. If I so much as mention that I've
met you, I see people start and stare at me--instantly I become a
personage. It makes me angry, because I want to know _you_.
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